Heart Thief - The Sinister Fairy Tales

“Your father is an abomination. He’s nothing more than a cult leader who has a flock of sheep drinking his Kool-Aid.”

“Enough, Colt,” Cash barks, slamming his palm on the tabletop.

“We’re not opposed to sharing, Mona. But it’s sacred, agreed by all parties—not forced upon women who have no say in the matter.”

“Sharing?”

Colt stands, his essence pouring from him and coating me in his identity. “Sharing, like the two of us sharing your body to bring you unimaginable pleasure.”

I gulp down the saliva filling my mouth. My breath hitches and an ache forms between my thighs. He’s so close, leaning into me, his mouth right there.

“As he said,” he pulls away, making me come back to myself. “All parties have to want it.” Is that humor in his tone? Damn, he’s…what did he call it? An asshole.

“Anyway, getting back to the story.” Cash clears his throat. “Your father wasn’t in charge at this time. Once he was, he stopped people from leaving for missionary work. He didn’t want outsiders coming in anymore—only pure children raised from birth on the island so there were no outside influences, stories, or truths corrupting his perfect little life,” Cash finishes, and Colt picks up.

“Point is—our mother left our father and went to live on the island with the man, Charles Maine, who brainwashed her.”

“What?”

“She was pregnant at the time and left with his child. All the garbage they talk, their righteous fucking Godly bullshit, and he knocks up a married woman then whisks her away from her other children to be his fucking wife on an island full of cult worshippers.” Colt paces the floor.

“Judith?” I choke, my hand wrapping around my waist. “Judith is Eli’s mother. Judith is your mother?” It feels like a hand wraps around my throat.

“You know him?” Cash asks, a line creasing his forehead.

“Of course she does. It’s a small fucking island,” Colt barks.

“Eli is…” my mouth is dry, and my head pounds. It’s so hot in here.

“Is what?” Colt demands.

“He’s my…”

“Your what?” they both grind out.

“I need water. I’m so hot and…”

“Fuck, she’s going to pass out,” one of them says.

Arms wrap around me, citrus and rainwater. Colt. I’m led to the couch, and Cash leans down, pulling a cap from a bottle of water and placing it against my lips. I swig the delectable nectar down.

“Don’t you have air conditioning in here? It’s ridiculous,” Colt fumes.

“It’s a fucking vault. The shit in here is priceless. I can’t put easily accessed vents.”

“Come on. Let’s get you some fresh air.” Colt slips his hand up my back, leaning me forward.

“I’m fine, I just…”

Black.

I wake in the car, fresh air blowing on me from a vent positioned in the interior of the vehicle. So smart. “How are you feeling?” Cash asks from beside me. Colt is upfront driving. “What happened?”

“You overheated…or got overwhelmed. Maybe a combination of the two,” Cash comforts.

“I’m sorry.” I shake my head to clear the fogginess.

“You don’t have to apologize. Your sister did that a lot too.” He smiles, reaching up to feel my head. “You’re cooler now.”

“She passed out a lot?”

“No.” He chuckles. “Apologized a lot.”

“Did you love her?” The ache that always accompanies thoughts of her opens in my chest. I sense Colt’s eyes on us through a mirror hanging from the center of the front window. “Infatuated is a better word, but that would have grown to love if we’d been given the chance.”

Tears burn my eyes, leaking onto my cheeks. I wanted her to be loved, adored, to feel all those butterflies and shockwaves up her spine that she said you feel when the right person kisses you.

“We’re here,” Colt grunts.

“Where is here?” I look out the tinted windows.

“My home. I like to live a little less…grand than my brother.”

Colt gets out first and opens my door. I take his offered hand and hold my breath when a zap of energy sends a ripple of excitement through my body. “Are you okay?” he asks, a brow raised. Why is that so attractive?

“I’m fine.” Warmth travels up my neck and over my cheeks.

I turn my attention to a square-shaped building. Our images are reflected back at us through the windows making up nearly all the walls. It’s beautiful. All our houses are made of wood that swells and wears from the salt of the ocean, the small, rickety windows stubborn and allowing in minimal light.

“Come on,” Cash commands, leading us to an enormous glass door opening up to a generous corridor. An array of art adorns the crisp white walls. We weren’t allowed art unless we created it ourselves.

He gestures for me to follow them. Our movements echo through the house. Tiled floors and plain white walls give it a sterile feel. It’s almost like being in a colossal version of Colt’s bathroom. We enter a living space. Gloss floors I can see my reflection in are fitted through the entirety of the place. Everything is white—the couch, the floors, walls, ornaments. It’s not homely like Colt’s castle, but it’s pretty to look at, I suppose.